


Imps and Gargoyles

by Miss_L



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mistletoe, Silly, you can guess the rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:06:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_L/pseuds/Miss_L
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yule. Mistletoe. Idiots being idiots. And a dash of romance. Have fun ;)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imps and Gargoyles

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Magical Mistletoe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352884) by [black_kitty_cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_kitty_cat/pseuds/black_kitty_cat). 



Yuletide had always been and would always continue to be a – for lack of a better word – _magical_ celebration. Not that anyone in Camelot would ever say that out loud… But even Arthur knew: winter solstice was a special time. The bans on magic still held, but small indiscretions were overlooked just this once. Unless, of course, the people of Camelot were in danger. But weren’t they always?

Leon and Gwaine had just come back from patrol. While Leon was reporting to Arthur, Gwaine had already managed to eat half a roasted mouton without sitting down. Elyan tried to reprimand him – ladies were present, after all! – but got a mouton-y smack for his troubles. When the ever-hungry Knight finally sat down, it was with a satisfied sigh and a thundering belch. Which, in turn, earned him a slap from both Percival and Leon. He didn’t care, really. He was full and happy and had a warm glow in his belly. Before long, he was feeling sleepy. Percival’s shoulder was too high to reach, Elyan would not appreciate being used as a pillow… After another jug of mead, Gwaine decided it was time for bed. Training was cancelled for next morning – not because Arthur was so lax, mind, but he had mostly given up on trying to get his Knights out of bed after an extensive celebration. Still, there were things Gwaine would like to do before sleep. Loud things, which even the privacy of his chamber wouldn’t conceal. After all, he has spent most of the day in the saddle…

Long story short, Gwaine got up, clapped each of his friends on the shoulder and walked towards the sleeping quarters, wondering where Percival had gone to. He hated not being able to wish his best friend goodnight, especially not after a celebration such as this. Luckily, the best friend in question was already walking towards him, grinning widely. The Mountain of Muscle (as Gwaine not-so-jokingly called him sometimes) was swaying a little, having downed his fair share of large jugs. The shorter Knight knew what was coming – reserve and shyness were no match for Camelot’s mead – but felt himself reluctant to dodge the affection. A great big wave of heat enveloped him before two very strong arms did. When the tight hug became long and awkward, Gwaine detached himself (in a rather undignified and weasely way – the only way one could detach themselves from a drunk and cuddly Percival), said “Goodnight” and squeezed Percival’s bicep briefly. The taller Knight’s smile never faltered.

The moment Gwaine stepped out of Percival’s personal space, he heard a loud gasp behind him. He spun around, sword half out of its scabbard already before he had even come to a halt. Arthur and Merlin were standing there, watching the men, matching grave expressions on their faces. Gwaine checked again for danger, but found none.

“What is it, Sire?” he asked. He felt Percival’s huge bouldery arm flex next to him in alarm. Now he wished even more desperately for the seclusion of his chamber… But that would have to wait.

In perfect coordination, Arthur and Merlin looked at each other, shook their heads with the same grave expressions and looked up. So did Gwaine. Apparently, they were standing in one of the doorways at the side of the Great Hall, which in itself wasn’t all that special. There were plenty of doorways in the castle. Even more than there were doors. What _was_ unusual, however, was the bunch of vegetation dangling above his and Percival’s heads. _How did that end up there?_

“Mistletoe,” Percival whispered in awe. Not for the first time, Gwaine marvelled at his friend’s knowledge of things he himself had always found useless. Until they came around to bite him on the arse. Despite his humble origins, it was usually Sir Percival pulling Gwaine out of the difficult situations his wilful ignorance sometimes caused. Still, the name of this plant rang a bell.

“Isn’t that what Druids use?” Gwaine asked suspiciously, grabbing his sword’s handle once again.

Merlin only shook his head mournfully.

“Are we cursed?” Gwaine felt panic rise in his chest.

“No,” Arthur stated firmly. Then he added, softer, “But you will be…”

The King and his man-servant exchanged another look before Merlin finished, “… If you don’t appease the plant’s magic.”

Percival’s eyes grew big with apprehension and fear. Gwaine liked to think that he was above “common” superstitions, but his fluttering heart betrayed the truth, at least to himself. 

He swallowed and tried to keep his voice steady as he asked, “How?”

It was quiet for a second. The celebration was still going strong in the Great Hall, each outburst of laughter piercing Gwaine’s waiting ears, but the mood in the little nook they were occupying presently was slowly sinking below freezing point. Merlin cast his eyes down. Arthur was still watching his men with an air of sorrow. Finally, the King opened his mouth and spoke.

“The mistletoe is, as you know, a magical plant. _Magic_ being what it is, the mistletoe _seems_ harmless… Perhaps I have been too tolerant…” He trailed off for a moment, then resumed. “However, during the winter solstice, this plant’s _special_ properties are strongest. When two people find themselves standing under it, it demands a… Sacrifice of sorts.”

 _Well,_ Gwaine thought, _This was always going to happen one way or another…_ He wasn’t scared of death, no more than he was of pain or loneliness, but Percival... He had hoped Percival would live a long and prosperous life, have a wife, a bunch of children. He’d have liked that for his friend. Gwaine looked over at the tall man next to him, a childlike expression on his frightened face. 

“What kind of sacrifice, my Lord?” Percival asked, voice small and compliant. 

“The only thing that could appease this devilish magic is… A kiss.”

Percival’s mouth fell open and his eyes bulged. Gwaine laughed in relief.

“Surely, Sire, we could find a maiden willing to kiss us free from impending doom?” he asked laughingly, body flooding with joy.

Arthur remained grave.

“I am afraid not.”

Gwaine stopped laughing. Percival’s jaws locked with a snap.

“Only you two can free yourselves of this bond.”

Merlin had turned away from them and seemed to be holding back strong emotions, shoulders shaking violently. Ooooh, this was bad. Very, very bad. Gwaine dared not even look at his friend as he weighed their options. Option one: they part ways and some unknown and possibly dreadful curse shall fall over them (Gwaine shivered at the memory of the pustules Gaius’ Goblin had caused). Option two: they kiss. The curse is no more, but everybody knows. Because Arthur and Merlin cannot be trusted not to tell the tale over and over and over again. Option two, secret sub-section b: they kiss. The curse is no more. Everybody knows, _and_ Gwaine has made a complete fool of himself, causing- Well. He preferred the pustules.

“One kiss wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”

Gwaine’s train of negative thought froze on its sinuous way down as he slowly, very slowly turned towards the man who had spoken these words. Perhaps he had really had too much to drink and was now imagining things. But no, Percival looked at him questioningly, almost expectantly. _Oh._

“I don’t mind,” Gwaine answered with a shrug, trying for nonchalance, while inside his chest, his heart was beating faster than the hooves of his trusted stallion in gallop. As long as he kept calm, he thought, no disaster would befall them. Just a peck on the lips, nothing more. No groping. No eager exploration of that mouth- Gwaine called his lustful thoughts to order and smiled. It must have looked horrific, because Percival’s smile fell.

“We don’t have to, you know, whatever this curse, I’m sure-“ the tall Knight was babbling now, clearly feeling guilty to have overstepped his friend’s boundaries. The scare had sobered him up, putting things into perspective once again.

Merlin made a small agonised sound. Gwaine turned towards him on reflex, only to catch Arthur’s eye. They locked gazes but for a moment, but that was enough. Gwaine saw that impish little glint the King got when he was daring someone. Or having a private joke. Or playing a prank.

Well. That would explain how the mistletoe got here in the first place. And why the culprit wasn’t yet being chased with torches and pitchforks. That also explained why Merlin’s shoulders were shaking. Not agony or fear for his friends. No. _Malicious joy._ Gwaine narrowed his eyes, but before he could reassure Percival, a small voice inside his head – the same small voice that usually told him to have another drink, or challenge someone twice his size – stopped him. Panic subdued, he was watching his friend once again. Percival had stopped babbling and was now simply looking apologetic. _Now or never,_ Gwaine thought, wondering at the same time how long it would take him to wipe the fear from the other’s face.

With a gentler hand than he had ever handled a timid filly, Gwaine touched Percival’s shoulder. The taller man was trembling, like a shy horse would, but didn’t rear. _Good._ Gwaine rubbed small circles over the man’s arm while he smiled gently and whispered, “Hey, it’s alright. Just one kiss, and this will all be over.” And yet it was Percival, reassured by his friend’s caresses, who initiated the contact. One of his heavy, warm hands (oh, Gwaine could write poetry about those hands) came to rest on Gwaine’s neck while he pulled the shorter man towards him with the other and stepped closer. _Too close… Dear Lord, his eyes are gorgeous. Why are his eyes so- If I die now-_ was as far as Gwaine's conscious thought got before Percival’s lips on his shut his brain down completely.

All that was left, was feeling. The reassuring weight of Percival’s hands and the solid warmth of his body against Gwaine’s. The soft lips, moulded perfectly to his own. The rough stubble catching on his beard – so wonderfully different from a woman’s soft skin! Again, it was Percival who took the next step. His tongue left the confine of his mouth to gently touch Gwaine’s locked lips in question, which was gladly and swiftly answered. Up to this point, Gwaine had been able to hold still. Now, all bets were off. His hands tangled in Percival’s short, thick hair; his pelvis and chest pushed closer towards the warmth of his friend’s embrace… It was only when a moan escaped his throat that they broke apart.

God, Percival was a sight! His hair a mess; his face so red, it shamed their cloaks. Both men were breathing much heavier than such exertions should have warranted. Gwaine searched his friend’s eyes for signs of shame or disgust, but found none. A soft smile was playing in the corners of Percival’s mouth, and suddenly, a whole world of possible futures Gwaine hadn’t even dared dreaming of opened themselves to him.

Arthur was staring at his men with open mouth. His surprise found its match on Merlin’s face, who had by now definitely stopped laughing. Gwaine was happy to see that the pranksters were even too stunned to confer anymore. As he grabbed Percival’s hand and pulled him towards the bedrooms, the Knight leaned over to Arthur.

“Thank you for saving us from the curse, Sire,” he said with a wink.


End file.
